


i fall in love with you every day

by goingaftercacciato



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: Basically the Staycation Version of Date Night, Because It's WWII and the Blackout's In Effect and Also Being Gay In Public Is Illegal, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Getting Tipsy and Flirty, Honestly This Is More of a Vignette Than Anything Else, I've Truly Out-Sapped Myself, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Really Just A Nice Happy Simple Moment for These Boys Because They Deserve It, Sap on Sap on Sap, Some Kissing Is Involved, This Fic Is Beyond Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingaftercacciato/pseuds/goingaftercacciato
Summary: "In the time that they have been together, Adil has learned to expect these small but thoughtful moments of romance from Toby, yet they never fail to make his heart race."Alternatively: Adil, Toby, a quiet night in, a bottle of wine, a splash of romance, and a dash of absurdity...
Relationships: Toby Hamilton/Adil Joshi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12
Collections: Halcyon winter holidays 2020





	i fall in love with you every day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMewsAtTen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMewsAtTen/gifts).



> Prompt: "Toby and Adil making each other laugh and that overwhelms them with a sense of how in love they are"
> 
> Okay, so, to be entirely honest, I'm not sure how I got this fic from your prompt, but...This is what I got. I hope I got somewhere near the mark, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Title comes from the Frank Sinatra song of the same name.

The fact that Adil has arrived home just before ten as opposed to well into the wee hours of the morning is nothing short of a minor but nonetheless marvellous miracle. The Halcyon had only opened her doors once more to the public quite recently, but already, he is busier than ever; half of his wait staff has run off to war, and he’s been left to pick up the slack, pulling gruelling thirteen-hour shifts night after night with little hope of actually clocking out on time. Though, most days, he is too busy being grateful that he even still has his job to complain.

Of course, his shift tonight—shortened at Ms. Garland’s grateful insistence—had been meant to end at eight o’clock, but he’d been kept back an extra hour and then some to continue pouring champagne for a toffee-nosed lord who insisted that Adil stay right at his side and ensure he never endured the unspeakable tragedy of his glass being empty for a second longer than the time it took him to snap his pampered fingers. Needless to say, it hadn’t been the most pleasant evening of Adil’s life, and the moment he’s pushed his key into the lock, he’s more than ready to simply fall into bed and sleep for days.

But when he opens the door, he finds the flat dark and quiet, which is odd and slightly worrying; Toby usually waits up for him, unable to sleep until he knows Adil is home safe, even though the Blitz and its nightly terror have long since ended. Frowning, he turns to toe-off his shoes, but his disappointment is swiftly allayed.

“Oh thank God, there you are.”

Relieved, Adil sighs and smiles to himself as he strips out of his coat, hanging it neatly on the rack by the door. Behind him, Toby’s hurried footsteps creak on the uneven floor, and a second later, his arms curl around Adil’s waist, holding on tight.

“You’re late,” he whispers into the curve of Adil’s neck. He presses a kiss there, then drops his head to rest his chin on Adil’s shoulder. “I was beginning to worry.”

“Lord Wyndham,” Adil says by way of explanation, but all of his previous irritation and exhaustion has vanished in a heartbeat. The ordinary pleasure of coming home to Toby, being greeted by him at the door: they’ve lived together for nearly two months now, and still Adil is practically intoxicated by the reality of it, still giddy with disbelief. Even in his boldest moments, he had never dared to dream that he could ever have something like this with a man, let alone have it with Toby—especially not after the complete disaster they’d made of things in their first go-round. And yet, here they are, a year and some months later, sharing a flat and all the stronger for their troubles.

Toby, though, scoffs at the name. “God, I can’t stand that man.”

Closing his eyes, Adil hums in agreement and lays his hands over Toby’s, threading their fingers together. “I can’t say I’ll be sorry to see him go.”

“I imagine he was in typical form tonight?”

Adil shrugs and leans back against Toby’s chest a bit more. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“That hardly makes it any better,” Toby points out.

“Maybe not, but he’ll be gone in the morning, so it hardly matters now.”

Adil pats Toby’s hands once, and Toby drops his arms and steps back, allowing Adil to turn and face him before immediately resettling his hands on Adil’s waist. He’s already changed into his pyjamas, his dressing-gown thrown on top, and his hair is something of a mess, falling limp over his eyes, well overdue for a trim and beginning to go a bit curly in some spots. Adil’s heart thrums with a swell of familiar, potent affection, and he reaches up to sweep one errant strand back into place.

“Hello,” he says softly.

“Hello,” Toby echoes, even softer.

Wrapping his arms around Toby’s shoulders, Adil pulls him in for a proper kiss, easy and lingering and sweet. It’s every bit of comfort that he needs after another long, thankless day of work, every bit of warmth he craves to scrub the gritty December chill from his bones until he forgets what it means to be cold. He could happily sink into Toby, spend the rest of the night trading lazy kisses and letting their hands wander over each other with no pressure, no intent beyond the simple act of touch. But all too soon, Toby pulls away, and Adil very nearly whines at the loss.

Toby, the bastard, only smiles at Adil’s pout. “Well, now that you’re finally home… ”

He takes Adil by the hand, tugging him into the living room, and it’s then that Adil realises why the flat is so dark.

A line of half-melted candles is spread across the coffee table, their flames fluttering timidly against the draught that slithers through their wonky windows despite the heavy curtains they’ve tacked up for the blackout. The candlelight casts the room in a wavering amber glow, shrinking it down into a charming haven just big enough for him and Toby to share. Behind the candles sits a bottle of wine with two mismatched glasses stationed on either side of it, and a cosy throw awaits them on the sofa. In the time that they have been together, Adil has learned to expect these small but thoughtful moments of romance from Toby, yet they never fail to make his heart race. 

Still, as much as he wants to show Toby his gratitude—in every way possible—he wouldn’t be doing his due diligence if he didn’t tease him a bit first.

“Expecting company, are you?”

“Yes, actually.” A self-satisfied little smirk rises on Toby’s lips, and _God_ , if Adil hadn’t already wanted to kiss him before— “If you must know, I’ve a date tonight, and he’s a real dish, so I’m quite keen to impress him.”

“Is that so?” Adil asks. “And how exactly are you going to do that?”

“Well, to be entirely honest, I plan to get a bit drunk and snog him silly.”

With a slight smirk of his own, Adil takes a step closer to Toby, dropping his hand in favour of winding his arms around his waist. “Sounds like a lovely evening to me,” he whispers.

“Yes, I thought so, but first…” Toby reaches up between them and begins to deftly pop open the buttons of Adil’s shirt. “We need to get you a bit more comfortable.”

The simple effort is somewhat hampered by Toby’s insistence on stopping to place petal-soft kisses on each new patch of skin he exposes: Adil’s neck, the curve of his shoulder, the line of his collarbone, the inside of his wrist. But once he has Adil adequately stripped down—his shirt tossed aside, his braces slid from his shoulders, his hair ruffled loose and flopping over his forehead—Toby takes a moment to rake his eyes over Adil in obvious appreciation before pulling him toward the sofa, reaching for the bottle of wine. Instinctively, Adil holds his hand out for the corkscrew, but Toby merely shakes his head and sets to work on the cork himself. It takes a bit longer to pop than if he had just allowed Adil to do it, but Adil is grateful for the gesture anyhow, and he eagerly sinks back into the cushions, tucking his legs up under him and letting the weight of the day begin to drop away. 

“Are you sure?” Adil asks as Toby picks up the first glass and pours out a healthy dose of wine. “You know we won’t be able to get more any time soon.” Despite his misgivings, he accepts the glass from Toby, staring down into its rich red depths. “Do you really want to waste a vintage Beaujolais on such a mundane occasion?”

“Firstly,” Toby says, pouring out his own generous glass. “Yes, I’m sure. Secondly…” Reclining back against the cushions beside Adil, he shifts closer, their legs pressed warmly together, and lays a hand on Adil’s knee. “Any night that I am able to spend with you by my side is anything but mundane.”

Adil, flattered and flush with rosy delight, can only roll his eyes. “Toby Hamilton, you shameless romantic.”

“What can I say? You bring it out in me.” With a smile and a kiss dropped on Adil’s cheek, Toby delicately clinks his glass against Adil’s before taking a measured sip. “You know, I used to be quite the pessimist. But then you came along, and suddenly, I believed in all sorts of wonderful things.”

Adil, shaking his head, drapes his arm around Toby’s shoulders. “You’re wretched,” he says, but when he kisses him, he can taste the wine on Toby’s lips, fruity and light and just the right level of acidic.

Toby merely shrugs, unrepentant. “I can’t help it, I’m a man in love.”

So as not to encourage Toby any further, Adil smothers his dopey grin as he takes a sip from his own glass and tangles his fingers in Toby’s hair, tugging gently at the burgeoning curls. “How was work, then?”

A noise somewhere between a sigh and scoff tumbles from Toby’s lips, and he waves his glass in a flippant gesture that nearly sloshes wine all over the both of them. “Hardly worth discussing.” Almost immediately, his grip on Adil’s knee tightens. “Er, I mean, it was just as dreary and dull as ever. Nothing of note. Unless, of course, you would call Lewis temporarily misplacing his pocket watch noteworthy,” he adds in a hurry. “I’d much rather hear about your day, Lord Wyndham aside.”

It’s not the most elegant sidestep, but Adil is happy to allow it. 

He raises a brow. “What makes you think my day was any less dull?”

“Adil, please. You deal in alcohol and socialites. Even on your worst day, that is inherently more interesting than sitting behind a desk, typing out numbers all day.” Toby lifts his hand from Adil’s knee and slips his arm around his waist instead, pulling him closer as his restless fingers fiddle with the button on Adil’s braces. “Besides, when has The Halcyon ever had the decency to be anything but relentlessly eventful?”

Well, Adil can hardly argue against that. The moment The Halcyon reopened her doors two months ago, things had almost immediately returned to their previous rip-roaring state. It has been as if the bombs never happened, and London’s wealthiest patrons laugh, drink, and waltz without a care across the same floor where innocent bodies had laid mere months ago. Of course, Adil hadn’t been there when all Hell had broken loose, but that doesn’t make it any easier. The builders had done an admirable job of restoring the lounge, even down to the smallest details, but Adil can still spot the changes, and with them, the knowledge of what horrors had transpired sits in the back of his throat each and every night as he puts on a smile for the crowd.

But that’s the last thing he ought to be thinking about right now when Toby is by his side and has put together this lovely little moment for them to share, so he downs a good swig of his wine and shakes the sour thoughts away.

“Your mother is in a panic.”

“Oh?” With his glass already nearing empty, Toby reaches for the Beaujolais once more. “What about this time?” He asks, topping off Adil’s glass as well, though he’s barely managed to polish off even half of it yet.

“Well, she’s quite distressed that it seems the rations may prevent us from providing every last guest with a full, proper Christmas dinner.” Stretching, Adil shifts his legs out from under him and drapes them over Toby’s lap. “Apparently, she spent a full half-hour interrogating Mr. Klein and Mr. Robbie about the current plans for the menu and impressing upon them that our guests pay good money to stay at The Halcyon and as such, we must strive to give them every sense that the war no longer exists within our doors.”

“Yes, that does sound like Mother,” Toby says, a decidedly amused glint in his eye as he brings his glass up to his lips. “I take it she’s still finding every way possible to involve herself in the hotel’s affairs, then?”

Idly twirling a strand of Toby’s hair around his finger, Adil shrugs. “She may be a bit overly ambitious at times, but you have to admit, she is effective.”

“That’s certainly one word for it,” Toby mumbles into his glass, though, he’s not quite able to bite back his smile. However much he may feign exasperation with his mother, he and Lady Hamilton have grown increasingly close ever since Lucian D’Abberville’s timely death a year ago, and despite no longer living in the hotel, he still returns at least once a week to dine with her and gossip about The Halcyon’s goings-on. “How are you finding her latest hire, then?” He asks, swirling his wine in his glass. “What was his name again? Ryan?”

“Rowan,” Adil corrects. The wind howls outside the window, and he nestles in a bit closer to Toby as the creeping draught raises goose pimples across his exposed skin. “He’s a good kid. Bit cheeky.” A fond smile tugs at his lips as he raises his glass. “Reminds me of Dhani, actually.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Watch it, Hamilton,” he says, lightly flicking Toby’s ear. Though, the reprimand is somewhat undercut by the fact that he’s still smiling, as is Toby. 

They continue to chat idly about Rowan and the many other new staff members, and Toby listens well enough, nodding and laughing along and interjecting here and there, but he’s quickly approaching two glasses deep and already his hands are beginning to wander. His fingers trace a coy, meandering path up along Adil’s leg. Then, they skim up to his waistband, tugging absently at his vest until it comes untucked and he can sneak his fingertips under the hem. It proves to be quite the distraction—particularly when Toby begins teasing a single, deliberate finger up and down the line of Adil’s hipbone—but Adil is nothing if not resolute. So, determined not to give in so easily if only for the simple pleasure of being contrary, he continues to sip calmly at his wine and tell Toby about Tom’s ongoing efforts to befriend the shy stray pup that occasionally scavenges around in the back alley.

It works. For a bit. 

Soon enough, though, Toby is leaning in, ducking his head to press a slow line of kisses along Adil’s jaw while his hand slides further up Adil’s shirt—his palm fitted perfectly along the curve of Adil’s waist, his blunt nails scratching ever so lightly against Adil’s back—and Adil’s words trail off mid-sentence.

“Toby…” He warns, but it doesn’t come out half as reproachful as it was meant to, and the way his fingers instinctively twist in the silky fabric of Toby’s dressing gown doesn't help his case.

“You’re so beautiful,” Toby mumbles against his jaw. “Do you know that?”

“Considering you tell me every day…” 

Adil tilts his head to the side ever so slightly and lets Toby trail his lips down his throat. Threading his fingers through Toby’s hair, he tries his damnedest not to shiver, not to let his breath catch, but it’s no use. After a year together, Toby knows all too well where Adil’s buttons lie and how best to press them; Adil doesn’t stand a chance, so he may as well fold now, for both their sakes. He hastily drains what is left of his wine and sets his glass down on the coffee table.

When their lips meet, it is clumsy and hungry, bound up in the same heady, young desire that has always run between them. But it is patient and tender, too, smoothed by familiarity and the steady assurance of all the times they’ve shared this together. Pleasantly warm from the wine and Toby’s embrace, Adil runs a hand up Toby’s chest, lingering for a moment over the gentle thunder of his beating heart, before he wraps his arm around Toby’s shoulders. There’s hardly an inch of space left between them, but Adil presses in even closer still. He wants to melt into Toby, to bury his face in the crook of his neck and breathe in the scent of his cologne, to get lost in him and forget for the night that a world and a war exist beyond their bodies.

So, of course, just as he had earlier, Toby abruptly pulls away. 

Thankfully, however, he only leaves Adil to glower at the back of his head for a moment as he too leans over to the coffee table and smartly rids himself of his glass. Then, with both hands now blissfully free, he turns back to Adil with a grin.

But half a second later, his grin drops like a lead weight, and he freezes as a gruesome frown takes over his features; he does a double-take, turning back and squinting down at the floor beneath the coffee table.

His eyes widen, and he makes a sound like he’s been punched in the gut; the next thing Adil knows, his legs are unceremoniously shoved off Toby’s lap, and Toby is standing atop the arm of the sofa, one hand braced against the wall to keep himself balanced as he stares down at the floor in pale horror.

“Toby, what--” Adil sweeps his eyes over the floor, seeing nothing that could have caused such panic, then back up to Toby. “What’s wrong?”

“Spider,” Toby says, pointing to the left of the coffee table. “There’s a spider.”

Adil can’t help it. He laughs. Laughs like a bloody child without a care in the world. Laughs harder than he has since this war began, harder than he has in years. When Toby turns to glare down at him, he clamps a hand over his mouth, but it does nothing to suppress his giggles or hide his amusement.

“Adil, it’s--Stop it, this is _not_ funny!” Toby insists, though it very much is funny. Hilarious, even, particularly from Adil’s current perspective.

“Toby, it’s okay,” he says when the laughter has subsided enough for him to speak. “It was probably just a shadow.”

He holds out a hand to help Toby climb down from his precarious perch; Toby resolutely ignores it and shakes his head. “No, I know what I saw. It was a spider. It _moved_ ,” he says as if he can already feel all eight legs creeping up his spine.

“Fine.” Rolling his eyes but fond nonetheless, Adil stands and walks over to the far wall to flick the lights on. “Where?”

“I don’t know!” Toby says, his eyes frantically scanning the room. “It could be anywhere by now! Perhaps if you hadn't spent so long laughing about--” He makes another sucker-punch sound and presses back further against the wall. “There!”

Adil follows to where his shaky finger is pointing, and at last, he locates the tiny culprit: a low black dot steadily plodding across the warped floorboards. How Toby had even managed to spot it in the dark, Adil has no idea. There’s hardly more than a centimetre to it, and it’s a quite common-looking thing, nothing especially ferocious about it. It clearly isn’t interested in bothering them or in fact being anywhere near them, but still, Toby stares down at it in abject terror, as if it were coming for his throat with a knife. 

“What are you waiting for?” He asks. “Kill it!”

“I’m not going to kill it, Toby.” Adil’s not particularly fond of the creatures himself, but he prefers not to be needlessly cruel, and he’d dealt with them often enough in his previous dingy flat that they simply no longer faze him. “It hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“It hasn’t done anything wrong?” Toby scoffs. “As far as I recall, breaking and entering is still a crime!”

Adil has to turn away from Toby before he succumbs to another bout of giggles and gets Toby any more worked up than he already is; he reaches for his empty glass on the coffee table. “I’d call it trespassing at best.”

“Oh, just get rid of it, please, for God’s sake!”

Crouching down, Adil holds the glass against the floor a few inches in front of the spider. It is understandably wary at first, pausing to study the sudden obstacle in its path, but after a moment of hesitation, it obediently climbs over the rim and into the glass. Adil tilts the glass up slightly, trying to keep the spider from slipping down into the thin residue of wine still ringed around the bottom, and carefully, he makes his way over to the window. Nudging the curtains aside just enough to get at the latch, he opens the window and tips the glass over the narrow brick sill. He feels a twinge of guilt, dumping the spider in the freezing cold to fend for itself, but he doesn’t have much choice. He whispers a quick apology, closes up the window, and turns back to Toby, holding up the now empty glass for him to see and giving it a little shake for emphasis.

“Better?” He asks.

“Yes, thank you.” Somewhat unsteady, Toby awkwardly steps down from the sofa, smooths out his dressing gown, and runs a hand through his ruffled hair. He clears his throat, straightens his shoulders, and lifts his chin, but his eyes don’t quite meet Adil’s. “I’m sorry, I--I suppose I may have…” He takes a breath, twisting his signet around and around. “ _Overreacted_ a bit. I just--I don’t like them, spiders. I didn’t mean to spoil--My God, what are you laughing about now?”

Adil shakes his head, not bothering to fight the laughter hiccuping through his chest nor the giddy smile glued to his lips. It’s just so absurd. So remarkable. This is the man Adil has chosen to love, the man he has chosen to give himself and his heart to, the man he intends to spend the rest of his life with if at all possible. A man who pours away an expensive vintage on a nondescript night in; who spews soft, syrupy adoration while his sly hands sneak over Adil with astute precision; who panics and runs for the hills at the sight of a measly spider. This man, in all his preposterous glory, is Adil’s, to have and to hold; he, truly, can’t believe his luck.

Beneath the laughter, he can scarcely breathe, and his heart feels as if it will burst, overwhelmed, unable to hold all of the sappy, joyous, bone-deep affection for Toby that is surging in his chest. All those years he had spent, pining from behind the bar, he had thought he loved Toby then, but those feelings are not even a shadow, not even a wisp of the love that has taken root in him now; his chest has bloomed as a field of wildflowers, a supple bed of rich red roses cultivated under Toby’s delicate care and drenched in the honeyed sunlight of his devotion.

But as Toby’s frown deepens and the ruddy pink of true embarrassment begins to rush into his cheeks, Adil dutifully chokes his laughter down and wipes the tears from his eyes, but he doesn’t temper his smile as he closes the space between them.

“I love you,” he says, breathless and warm from head to toe. He takes Toby’s face in his hands, looking into his eyes as his heart aches so wonderfully. “I love you so much, you ridiculous man.”

“Oh, well, that’s--” Toby’s pout melts away as Adil kisses him; his arms come up slowly to wind around Adil’s waist and pull him closer as he sighs and leans into the kiss. “That’s okay, then,” he mumbles against Adil’s lips. “I love you, too.”

He says it a little bit shy—like it’s the first time the words have passed his lips, like he still hasn’t tired of their quiet thrill and simple truth—and Adil goes weak with longing. It should be impossible, to want so badly a man who is already in his arms, but his love for Toby in that moment has taken hold of him entirely: his body turned to a hungry ocean, the flood of his desire crashing through him, following the reverent touch of Toby’s hands across his body as the tides follow the moon. 

Pushing up into another burning, lingering kiss, he slides a hand into Toby’s hair and lets the other trail down Toby’s chest. “Now…” He says, toying with one of the buttons on Toby’s shirt. “Where were we?”

Toby’s arms tighten around him, and he licks his lips, gazing down at Adil with a dizzying mixture of hope and hunger. “Heading to bed, I believe?”

Adil holds up his hand between them, and Toby’s fingers immediately curl around his, their palms fitted perfectly together. 

“Lead the way.”


End file.
